


In which Crowley is loved

by StellarCorpses



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), God Ships It, God's POV, Hereditary Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Post-Apocalypse, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarCorpses/pseuds/StellarCorpses
Summary: Angels can't sense demons' love. Rumor has it, demons don't feel love at all. They are unlovable, unforgivable, unworthy of the unconditional love reserved for God's creatures. They aren't God's creatures anymore, they were disowned. The rumors, as they so often are, are wrong. But when the Almighty starts a rumor, angels and demons alike tend to take it to heart. She's working on undoing some of the damage, starting with an angel and a demon who, against all odds, are already in love. It's going to take some doing.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. In which God repents

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is mainly for juxtaposition and to introduce our lovely narrator, God.

It's a common misconception that demons cannot love. The fact of the matter is, demons cannot  _ be _ loved. Nearly. That would be a gross violation of Free Will, not to mention An Angelic Love of All Creatures, but a younger, more vengeful God did her best to work around these restrictions.

I regret that now. I feared the loss of control, we all do. The Great Plan is ineffable because it's not infallible. Don't go telling anyone, but I'm often making it up on the fly. So when I was younger, more inexperienced, more suspicious, before I could fathom the vastness of human resilience, I cast out anyone who dared to rebel against and even to question my authority, because I questioned it constantly. So demons were unforgivable, were unlovable, were fallen forever from a grace that was meant to be all-encompassing.

There were loopholes, but no one ever bothered exploiting them. Angels could love demons, that wasn't against the rules, but rebelling and questioning were, and when the person you love has been cast out and mistreated, you question and you rebel, or you keep your love not in your rapid, telltale heart but in the pit of your stomach where it may never -  _ must _ never - see the light of day. But love conquers all - a grotesque cliché, of course, but not a risk I was willing to take regardless. So I spread rumors of irredeemable evil that angels and demons alike took to heart, whispers of foul creatures not only unlovable but unable to love. For my final brilliant brushstroke, I took from my own angels the ability to sense a demon's love. Angels did not love demons because it did not occur to them that they were worth loving, nor that they loved in return.

I'm not proud of it, of any of it. It's heartbreaking. But when the world and I were young, it all seemed to spin out of control, momentum going unchecked by gravity. So I overcompensated, reined the world in, in, in, until it all collapsed in on itself in a war between two sides that should have been one. Or it would have, if not for an angel and a demon who loved each other fiercely enough that I could just  _ try _ and stop them (as well as several human beings who actually did something). So I didn't. But they stopped themselves, reined it in, in, in, checked their own momentum before they went  _ too fast. _

  
It was  _ maddening. _


	2. In which Aziraphale yearns

Aziraphale sat rigidly on the leftmost side of a particular bench in St. James Park with his hands clasped firmly in his lap. He found that when not in this posture, and when in the company of the demon beside him, he became rather twitchy. How simple it would be to just reach over and link his pinky with Crowley's, how easily he could nudge Crowley's foot with his own! He reins these impulses in, in, in, into his center of gravity, the pit of his stomach where the things that don't bear thinking of live. He clasps his hands together so his fingers don't find Crowley's.

"It's such a lovely day," Aziraphale sighed, out of the sheer loveliness of it and not at all with any sort of longing. Of course, when one must convince oneself that one is not experiencing longing, one is typically well on their way to pining like a forest, if not head-over-heels already. Someone who is not experiencing longing doesn't usually give the topic much thought. "It's such a lovely, _lovely_ day,"

"Lovely," Crowley murmured. He was not talking about the scenery. He draped his arm across the back of the bench, and Aziraphale's traitorous spine relaxed and leaned into it a moment before he caught himself.

"I can't think of any way I'd rather spend it," Aziraphale said sweetly. _Except snogging you_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully. Aziraphale elected to ignore it. There was no reason he couldn't - Heaven wouldn't hurt him nor have him, and Hell held Crowley in much the same regard - but there was no reason he should, either. He only saw Crowley as a friend, a very dear friend, the dearest creature in the universe. Besides, Crowley felt exactly the same - Aziraphale should know, he was an _angel_ , after all. He quite literally had a sense for these things. And that was fine! What he and Crowley had was _better_ than fine. He loved Crowley, but he was not _in love_ with Crowley, no. And Crowley reciprocated! And wasn't that "just _lovely!_ "

Several startled ducks decided they preferred their chances with the nice old lady two benches over and flew off to eat _her_ bread.

"...Angel?" Crowley eyed his companion with concern.

"Yes, dear?"

"Nothing, angel," Crowley sighed. The ducks waddled back over, slowly and cautiously, and the pair tossed breadcrumbs absentmindedly between snatches of conversation on everything and nothing. Dusk rolled in to find two lovestruck idiots, abandoned by the ducks, having wasted a perfectly good afternoon.

What were they waiting for? After six thousand _bloody_ years pining like nobody's business and an _Armageddon_ , the stakes were so low Crowley and his suggestion of a spine couldn't limbo under them! Sure, Aziraphale couldn't sense Crowley's love, but his corporation had been generously provided with eyes, couldn't he see it written across Crowley's face? And Crowley, couldn't he tell Aziraphale was smitten? Aziraphale was never so happy as when he was with Crowley, it was obvious. The man (-shaped being) radiated joy and wonder and _love_.

This was all my fault. Don't get me wrong, they're oblivious as all get-out, but I certainly hadn't helped matters. I'd hindered them, as a matter of fact, as much as it was in my power to do.

Did you know that animals receive visions considerably more often than humans? No, you didn't, because animals don't go and brag about it the way humans do. Animals don't get all self-important and splinter off into different sects and sub-sects and fight and get it all backwards. With animals, I say "Go and cross in front of that man's car," and some squirrel who happened to be in the neighborhood goes and crosses in front of that man's car. Then the man hits the breaks, sees a truck screech past a red light and through the intersection right in front of him, has an epiphany, dies some sin-free years later and goes to heaven. It's quite simple. I tell a human "Go and cross in front of that man's car," and he goes and tells all his friends about it and starts a church dedicated to standing in front of people's cars, and Hell claims generations of disgruntled commuters as well as the original man who got hit with that truck because no one was there to stop it. Humans think they're pure of heart and special and _worthy_. Squirrels understand that they were the closest person I could reach.

A duck who knew her place waddled dutifully to a bench in St. James park, a bench occupied once again by a couple (not a _couple_ couple, not just yet) of oblivious immortals. The duck crouched (as best a duck can do), paused just a moment, and pounced.

Aziraphale ducked (I'm the narrator, and _God_ , I'll make as many terrible puns as I please) as the bird, propelled by a sense of divine purpose, flapped and squawked with the unrelenting viciousness of a far more fearsome creature, like a goose. Aziraphale toppled directly into Crowley's lap. Crowley, flustered though he was, did his level best to fend off the attacking waterfowl with one hand while propping up Aziraphale with the other ("holding" might have been a more apt description, "cuddling," even, but poor Crowley would probably discorporate at the thought, which would really make a right mess of things). Aziraphale cowered (nuzzled, nestled) in Crowley's arms, making himself comfortable (if one could forget about the duck). He felt acutely at home, safe and cared for. Not loved, perhaps, which was totally cool (the Principality Aziraphale did not _yearn_ ), but cared for.

The duck, upon a silent cue, returned unceremoniously to the pond. Crowley, eyes screwed shut behind dark glasses knocked askew, batted at an imaginary threat a while longer. Aziraphale gently placed a hand on his arm. Crowley froze, then opened his eyes.

"Ah,"

"Yes, dear, I do believe you scared her off,"

"Ah," Crowley repeated. He became very aware of the angel still curled up in his lap with no apparent intention of moving.

"Very brave if you. Very-"

"Don't say it, angel," Crowley warned.

"- _nice_ ," Aziraphale finished in a stage whisper, grinning up at him cheekily. Crowley fought a smile, but it was a losing battle (rarely the case, but alas, these things do happen). Aziraphale beamed in response. He never really bothered to hide how he felt from anyone but himself. He lied plenty, but he was a terrible liar. A lie was just the truth with the words swapped out; his meaning stayed the same. Crowley doubled down on his exaggerated scowl and Aziraphale laughed in response. Crowley started laughing too, and Aziraphale positively glowed. "Your laugh is lovely, dear," he said a little breathlessly (from all that laughing, to be sure), "I do wish I heard it more often,"

"Anything for you, angel." It was meant as a joke, but it came out sounding raw and almost painfully honest. "Your wish is my command!" he tried, light and teasing. Aziraphale didn't respond. He reached up on an impulse and plucked the sunglasses from Crowley's face. Crowley's golden eyes widened. Aziraphale caught sight of himself then, it seemed, and scrambled upright.

"Oh, I'm sorry my dear, I don't know what's gotten into me," he said hurriedly. "Only, your eyes are so lovely, and I rarely get to see them. You're beautiful." This last bit was said in a whisper, more to himself than to Crowley.

They were so _close!_ But, in six thousand years spent looking over your shoulder, you pick up a few habits; namely, discretion.

"Ngk. Er. S'okay," Crowley managed. His blush was on full display without his glasses, but Aziraphale was staring intently at nothing. Some tasks must be completed in increments. The process can be excruciatingly slow, but it can be done, can be seen through to completion. Matchmaking the two most oblivious and adoring beings this side of Alpha Centauri was one such task. It was far from over, but a seed had been planted in Aziraphale's head. Once he realized just how desperately in love he really was, the whole ordeal would begin to gather speed.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters may come out irregularly, so my sincerest apologies in advance. Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
